


White Oak

by diemarysues



Series: A King and her Burglar [6]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Female Bilbo, Female Thorin, I can't be blamed for this devolving into smut, Prompt Fill, Smut, considering the prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: <i>She lay back, fingers still clenching spasmodically at the grass. Thorin smirked up at her, eyes devilish between Bilbo's thighs. "It turns out I quite like picnics," she said, and Bilbo couldn't help but huff out a shaky laugh.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	White Oak

Of all the things she didn’t understand – and Thorin could admit to not understanding a fair few things –, at the top of the list was the prospect of wanting to usurp a throne. Perhaps the prospect of power and riches appealed to some, but didn’t these people realise that a King’s power and riches depended on that of the kingdom itself – and that it took _work_ to maintain such things?

 

_Work_ , Thorin thought sourly, _like endlessly boring meetings_.

 

Three of the mining families were locked in dispute over a newly discovered quartz mine. Apparently there were those who thought that the seams were too thin to be economical. The ‘Ran family, on the other hand, were perfectly happy with taking it over so long as there were water wheels made for them. The family Nar were absolutely against this; they owned the deed to the mine, they said, and would not pay for equipment.

 

Thorin sat back as she watched Magnar stand and start shouting across the table at Raran, who was fingering his belt (where he usually kept his pickaxe). She wondered if anyone would have their noses broken today. It’d be a point of interest, at least.

 

Or it would have been, had the door not opened. She sat up quickly when she saw Balin walking towards her.

 

Losan thumped his fist onto the table loudly. “Shut up,” he rumbled, calmly waiting for Magnar to seat herself. Once she did, he nodded at Thorin.

 

“My King.” Balin was painstakingly efficient in all things, and the undercurrent of worry in his voice made Thorin pay attention. “I apologise for the interruption, but…” he trailed off, and alarm bells started ringing.

 

“Balin, what is it?” A myriad of incidents started playing through her mind, each worse than the last. But even her extensive imagination was not enough to anticipate the sheer terror that splintered through her when her oldest friend spoke again.

 

“It’s an emergency. Your… it’s Bilbo.”

 

Thorin rose to her feet, barely caring that the others around the table scrambled to do so as well. “I take my leave.”

 

Despite the demanding way Thorin peppered Balin with questions as soon as they were alone, the white-bearded Dwarf would not answer. The only thing he told her was that Bilbo was waiting in her garden.

 

So to the garden Thorin went.

 

As she walked purposefully with wide strides, her mind tossed and turned. What could have possibly befallen Bilbo there? Had someone tried to attack her? Had there been a structural collapse? Why hadn’t Balin told her anything?

 

Oh, if Thorin found her wife dead, Mahal _help_ the person responsible.

 

Thorin walked out onto the first terrace; Bilbo’s herb garden. She blinked in the sunlight as she took in the simple geometric beds, each clean and carefully tended to. It was easy enough to look around and determine that Bilbo was not here – unconscious or otherwise – so she moved on.

 

The next terrace was through a steel archway absolutely covered in cherry-red roses. This part of the garden was abundant in flowers; more roses, curious shrubs called rhododendrons, camellias, sassafras, carnations, all of every colour imaginable. It had taken a long time for this garden to look as it did – and Thorin was quite sure that the human that had supplied all the plants, Seor, was now very well off – but if it made Bilbo happy, then Thorin would not begrudge her for it.

 

But where was her wife? What had –

 

Thorin narrowed her eyes at a flutter of apricot-coloured cotton.

 

Bilbo looked very much alive and well, busily pruning a white oak sapling, but Thorin grabbed her and enfolded her in her arms all the same, crushing their bodies together.

 

“Um. Hello.”

 

Thorin exhaled gustily against Bilbo’s temple. “I thought – I thought –” She cut herself off and stepped back. She held Bilbo at arm’s length, checking her Hobbit over for any visible signs of injury or distress. At first glance there seemed to be none, her wife clothed in sensible gardening clothes with grass-stains on her knees and her tools lying off to the side.

 

“I see Balin did well.” Bilbo smiled cheekily.

 

“What?”

 

“Getting you out of that meeting.” Small fingers carded gently through Thorin’s beard; something she usually enjoyed but was too distraught now to appreciate. “Did you like my plan?”

 

Her tone was deceptively calm. “Your plan?”

 

“Yes.” Bilbo stepped out of Thorin’s grasp now, leading her over to where a blanket had been laid on the grass, a basket set in the centre. “Are you hungry?”

 

Thorin was – Thorin was flabbergasted. Flabbergasted, and starting to get angry. “You forced – you convinced Balin to force me out of an _extremely_ important meeting, for _lunch_?”

 

Her wife frowned. “Is that a problem?”

 

“My presence is needed during these meetings, else they cannot be settled.” What was wrong with Bilbo? Thorin thought that she understood this simple concept.

 

“Think of it as my stealing you away. You’re always happy to boast about my ‘thieving prowess’. I might as well put it to the test.”

 

“This is not a joke.”

 

Bilbo’s fists clenched. “I never said it was. I just assumed you would appreciate a respite. Obviously I made a mistake.” Though her voice remained haughty and steady, her lower lip trembled ever-so-slightly as she continued, “And if you think your meetings are more important than I am – as you have this past week – then you are welcome to return to them.”

 

A muscle twitched in Thorin’s cheek. Of _all_ the –

 

She sighed and reached for Bilbo’s hand. She traced Bilbo’s knuckles as she said, “The problem was close to being resolved.”

 

“And then there would have been another problem. And another. And another.” Bilbo made to tug her hand away, but Thorin tightened her grip. “I’m sorry I took you away from all of that.”

 

Hadn’t she been despairing the tedium of those very meetings only minutes ago? Hadn’t Bilbo given her a perfect reason to escape?

 

Didn’t Thorin want to spend time with her own wife rather than with belligerent miners?

 

She very carefully ran her forefinger down Bilbo’s blunt nose. Relief relaxed her shoulders when Bilbo’s frustration and hurt bled away into (hopefully mild) annoyance.

 

“I will _try_ not to let my responsibilities pile up,” Thorin rumbled. Doubtless it wasn’t the best promise she could have made, but it was a realistic one. “I didn’t mean to become cross –”

 

Bilbo tugged on their intertwined hands again, this time so she could kiss Thorin’s fingers. “Come. I made sure to include your favourites, and some of mine.”

 

“I am hungry,” Thorin said, and was rewarded by a brilliant smile.

 

The food was delicious and – not for the first time – Thorin was grateful for her wife’s easy forgiveness. Conversation flowed freely between them; conversation free of mines and contracts and gold, and Thorin found herself relaxing in the fresh air. She lay with her head pillowed on Bilbo’s lap, absentmindedly listening to Bilbo’s chatter as she stroked the Hobbit’s ankles.

 

Had it really been a week? She’d been cooped up in the council rooms for hours on end, returning to her and Bilbo’s shared quarters long after her wife had gone to bed, and the days had just bled together.

 

Guilt twisted uneasily in Thorin’s gut as she realised the extent of her inconsiderateness. Bilbo had missed Thorin just as much as Thorin had missed her, if not more, and she’d just been trying to be helpful.

 

Well. The very least Thorin could do was show that she appreciated the gesture.

 

“Thorin, what are you – _Thorin_!”

 

She looked up at Bilbo through her eyelashes, trying for innocence and no doubt failing. “You didn’t pack dessert.”

 

Bilbo covered her mouth to stifle her snorts of laughter, which Thorin thought was quite discourteous. She left Bilbo to her mirth and set about undoing the drawstrings on her wife’s underclothing.

 

As soon as she’d pulled them off Bilbo’s ankles, the Hobbit hissed, “Anyone could catch us!”

 

“Everyone knows better than to enter your garden, Bilbo,” Thorin returned easily, her hands gentle as she parted Bilbo’s legs. She marvelled at the softness of the ample thighs in her palms and pressed tiny kisses to the side of Bilbo’s knee.

 

“Thorin Oakenshield.” Bilbo meant her tone to be chastising, most probably, but it came across as breathless. “Have you forbidden people from entering my garden?”

 

Not in so many words.

 

Rather than answer – and possibly get in trouble – Thorin brushed her beard against the sensitive skin of Bilbo’s inner thigh. She exulted in the gasp this earned her, allowing Bilbo to thread her fingers through dark locks.

 

Mahal bless her for gifting her with this Hobbit.

 

She bit down.

 

“ _Thorin_ ,” Bilbo gasped. It was no longer a protest, not with the blatant pleading in her voice, and Thorin groaned against Bilbo’s skin.

 

“My burglar,” she growled possessively, trailing her lips ever upwards. Bilbo’s pleas grew louder, her breath hitching gratifyingly. Her hands attempted to direct the path of Thorin’s mouth as she babbled encouragement – and, really, who was Thorin to deny her anything?

 

She set upon her wife with a will, not bothering to tease any further, set upon her with her skilled fingers and her clever tongue. The sunrays warmed the back of her neck and turned Bilbo’s curls golden.

 

Thorin glanced up when Bilbo lost control, her head thrown back in utter bliss as she shuddered into completion, and the King couldn’t help but wonder what she had done to deserve such a beauty. Bilbo shook under Thorin’s hands, words incomprehensible between her clenched teeth, and Thorin smiled against her as she looked her fill.

 

Finally, Bilbo lay back, fingers still clenching spasmodically at the grass. Thorin smirked at her, eyes devilish between Bilbo's thighs. "It turns out I quite like picnics," she said, and Bilbo couldn't help but huff out a shaky laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. I should really not be writing, considering I'm in the middle of exams and am getting sick. But since when does my brain listen to me?


End file.
